


Beggar's Banquet

by Ghanima_Starkiller



Series: Greek Mythology [2]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, Reincarnation, satyr sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:10:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghanima_Starkiller/pseuds/Ghanima_Starkiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ari has always felt as if she belonged to another time. During a visit to a museum with her best friend, the two stumble on a curious exhibit of the god of wine and pleasure and his entourage, and Ari begins to understand that she was born to a larger and more fantastical world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beggar's Banquet

“I thought he was meant to be a fat little guy always sitting on his ass.”

“An ass,” Ari tutted. “An ass. Like a donkey. He rode on a donkey. And besides, that was the Roman version, Bacchus. They turned him into a big, indolent lush. Like a jester.” She motioned toward the statue they were both regarding, gesticulating with a waving hand. “This was the Greek vision. This is Dionysus in all his grandeur.”

Steffie pulled a face. “He’s a bit… feminine, isn’t he?”

Ari rolled her eyes and made another disgusted sound with her tongue. She thought the figure intriguing, sensual and oddly enthralling—slender with a narrow waist and prominent grooves where his hip bones led into his loins, his long but clearly lush hair pulled back into a plait but draped over his shoulder; his chest was flat, defined by trim but sinewy planes, and his face… oh, that face! The hairs up and down her arms prickled and rose on end, as if she’d been electrified.

“I don’t think we’re even supposed to be in here,” Steffie noted, grimacing exaggeratedly and beginning to slink off. It was true: They had stepped over velvet rope partitions to get into the small and empty room. Ari had, at the time, put it down to sheer curiosity; Steffie had spied a statue of a satyr having his way with a woman and had thought all of it naughty and titillating—that is, until she’d seen that it was just another bunch of ancient marble statuary and her short attention span was no longer held. The room was overwhelmed with the smell of fresh paint; the walls were covered with a mural depicting a forest, and Ari guessed that the collection had yet to make its debut as a new part of the museum’s collection.

She wrenched her eyes away from the likeness of Dionysus for a moment and saw the brown polyester clad elbow of a security guard at the corner of one of the three arches; he was turned away, paying them no attention. Steffie was sneaking out in the opposite direction. Ari was riveted to the spot, wholly unable to move her feet, even to shift them; her friend didn’t even notice that she wasn’t following.

Ari thought she heard the sound of gay laughter and her head flew to her right. There was a display of three statues: the satyr in the throes of coitus that Steffie had first glimpsed, another of three woman holding hands and dancing, and the last of a satyr playing his pipes. There room was silent, the sounds of the museum beyond strangely muted, and Ari saw no probable origin for the sound. Her stare returned to Dionysus. She felt a thrill when it seemed as if the blank marble eyes of the statue had shifted to meet her own.

This was ridiculous. She should go find Steffie, have something to eat in the cafeteria and get gone. But when at last she felt her feet shuffling against the granite floor, she realized she was moving closer toward the sculpture, her breath catching in her throat. She gazed up at him adoringly, and felt first one leg lift and climb over the velvet rope and then the other, as if she were in some sort of trance, under the sway of the beautiful god towering before her. She tucked her long, brunette hair behind her ear and knelt at the base of the statue, spreading her hands beside her knees. “What are you doing to me?” she murmured, and that unnerving laughter sounded again; this time, it seemed to be coming from all around her.

“Ariadne,” a voice whispered huskily. Her real name, her full name. No one called her by that name; her friends didn’t even know it.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard, the dry click loud in the otherwise silent room. She edged closer and placed her hands on his legs, right above the backs of his knees; she ran her fingers up the smooth marble, feeling the astounding detail of the carving; every muscle and tendon appeared to have been carefully rendered. She caressed his thighs, admiring the differences between the ligament in the leg he was leaning on and the other that was more or less at rest.

And then, gathering her courage, her eyes finally alighted on that which she was craving: his cock was flaccid, resting casually above his bulbous testicles. “For you, my god,” she breathed and, pushing herself up on her knees, admiring the way the cool marble was veined, as if there were blood just beneath that pale skin, she closed her eyes and took him into her mouth, extending first her tongue to touch the tip before swallowing him up with her lips.

The stone tasted very faintly of dust and some sort of cleaner. She paid it no mind as she pushed her mouth rhythmically along his limp length. Moaning, grasping his firm backside with one hand, she increased her pace hungrily. At first she thought it only her imagination that the stone was becoming warm; her own mouth was warm, after all, hot as a matter of fact, dripping with saliva and she was bound to affect it. But she could not ignore the fact that the cock was growing, both in length and girth. She heard the slight crack and crumble of stone, and her eyes flew open as a hand touched her hair, stroking it.

She met his eyes, no longer empty but dark and tender and wild, his face now tilted downward. The surface of the marble was glowing—no! It was gaining color! A soft peach at first and then a deeper tan. His glossy black hair fell from his shoulder, rigidly at first, and then as luxurious as she had imagined it. His cock swelled, filling her mouth; she could feel the bulbous tip cresting from the fold of his foreskin and then bulging past it like a precious, ripe fruit—a plum. It bumped the back of her throat and continued to enlarge; his fingers curled in her hair, trapping her there and making clear his intentions, his desires.

‘Yes, my god,’ she thought, and then added, ‘yes, yes, my husband.’ Bracing herself, she opened her throat, compelled her muscles to relax and, with one struggling gulp, she drew him as far as he could go, stopping only when her nose bumped the smooth skin of his groin and her lips wetly wrapped around his shaft’s thick root. He smiled down at her, the gesture filled with love and lust, as she held him like that for as long as she could and then withdrew. She repeated this again, and then again. She was adventurous the fourth time and, when he was fully nestled in her throat, her tongue snaked from between his shaft and her bottom lip to lap at his bloated balls.

He hissed in surprised delight and threw his head back, and she was rapturously blissful for having pleased him so. She suckled his cock’s burgeoning head as her hand pumped him and she caught her breath. She drew him in again, and now she could feel that he was very near to reaching ecstatic fulfillment. His body jerked, and she tried to turn away but the strong hand in her hair prevented her keeping him between her lips as his hips bucked one final time and a burst of hot cum filled her mouth, dripped onto her tongue. She grimaced, trying to pull away, but he held her fast and fed her another mouthful.

Her eyes widened in surprise and met his, twinkling with amusement, as she tasted it, not bitter at all but sweet, like grapes, like cream. ‘Ambrosia?’ she wondered. Did the gods cum ambrosia? Who was she to question anything anymore. She swallowed as much as he could, but he spent five times and it was just far too much. She dropped to hands and knees as the excess came gushing from her lips.

She felt soft grass beneath her and when she looked around, the museum, any and all traces of it, were gone. She was in a forest, a stream burbling merrily past. The other statuary was alive as well, creeping around her in cautious but eager inquisitiveness. It never once occurred to her that this was not absolutely and utterly real. “Ariadne,” Dionysus said again—and she now knew it was his low, mellifluous voice—and when she peered up at him, he was offering her his hand. She slid her fingers into his and he gently pulled her to her feet. She glanced around at the others, still watching with fervent anticipation. “Behold! Ariadne—my wife and your Queen!” A cheer broke out and the joyous sound of music filled the air as the creatures began to dance and fornicate.

Dionysus retreated to an ivy-covered throne of made up of entwined twigs and roots covered in a plush leopard pelt; a panther slunk around his feet and settled beside him, purring contentedly and rolling onto its side. Again he gestured to him and she came obediently. When she was standing before him, he placed a hand on her hip and grinned. It was then he seemed to notice her dress, a plain sort of thing, purple with a flared skirt that fell to her calves. He tilted his head this way and that, his brow furrowing deeply as he examined her until she understood what it was he wanted.

She laughed gaily. “It’s not exactly a chiton, is it?” She reached behind her and grappled with the zipper until it was far enough down that she could slide the dress over her round hips; it gathered at her ankles in a pool. He looked arrogantly satisfied for a moment until he became aware of her undergarments, and his frown deepened. “Wait a moment, Mr. Greedy!” she teased and reached around first to unclasp her bra. She felt several pairs of rapacious eyes on her as her large breasts tumbled out and she discarded the piece of cloth held stiff by underwire. Her cheeks were flushing, especially when Dionysus appraised her with his eyes and licked his lips appreciatively. Taking a deep breath, she pulled down her panties, giving the satyrs behind her quite the view as she bent over to pull them over her feet.

“You have a strange way of speaking,” he noted as he gathered her into his arms and pulled him down into his lap. He was hard again, which hardly seemed like a great surprise, considering who he was; she had a feeling he spent most of his time with a thundering erection. He brushed her hair from her face with the back of his hand as his fingertips caressed her cheek and jaw. She sighed and leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed; she wriggled in his lap, spreading a fresh wetness from her pussy onto his hairless thigh. “But it matters not, for I have spent centuries in search of you.”

“I am yours, my love,” she responded, her own hand resting against his taut stomach.

“And so let us now revel!” he announced, and the cheer was louder than ever. He produced a goblet of wine and fed her sips of it until her lips were stained a dark red. And then he stole kisses, giving her a taste of the heady wine and then drinking it from her mouth, again and again, his hand curled possessively around her throat. The satyrs copulated noisily and vigorously with the maenads, the wild women, all around them. “Here!” he beckoned to one, and bowing on his bent legs, the creature approached. “If my wife will allow it, let her take her pleasure and allow me to watch.” Ari’s eyebrows flew up but she nodded slowly and was drawn onto the grass at the foot of the throne.

She kept her eyes locked with Dionysus’ as she lay on her back and the satyr cupped her breasts, squeezing their abundance and watching as the pale flesh bulged from between his grasping fingers. He licked her nipples, and then suckled her as if he expected wine to flow from them—who knew? Perhaps it would, should she stay here long enough. The satyr urged her onto her side and she followed, her smoldering gaze fastened to her husband’s. The satyr lifted one of her legs and she felt his woolly head nestle between her soft thighs

She moaned as his hot tongue penetrated her, running wetly first along the length of her slit, to the puckered hole in her bottom, and then wiggling inside her pussy, lips plucking at the petals of her labia. And then the clever tip of his tongue found the swollen, sensitive nub of her clitoris and began to flick it rapidly. She grasped at the grass, gasping aloud. Sensation exploded along her nerve endings like firecrackers. He dipped his tongue into her, taking a deep draught, before returning his attentions to her clit. Time seemed to slow; from moment to moment, she watched it flicker nearly to a halt, only she and her satyr were still moving in real time.

She had the most fantastic orgasm she’d ever had in her life, writhing on the ground, every inch of her trembling, and still she watched her husband through the distortion of sweet tears gathering and falling from her eyes. “Enough!” Dionysus roared, and the satyr recoiled, bowing once more, but still licking her from his lips with relish. “Come,” he told Ari and smiling dreamily, wobbling on unsteady legs, she came to him, straddling his waist so that his stiff cock lay against her belly, poking at the bottom of her sagging bosom.

He wasted no time: He lifted her and impaled her upon his eager manhood. She was still glowing with sensation and tenderness from her climax and the feel of him penetrating her nearly drove her mad! She grasped at his shoulders and began to move immediately. He watched her with a smirk on his full mouth, her breasts bouncing up and down, her head thrown back in rapture. His hips matched her rhythm, wild, fierce, savage, bucking up into her; she felt as if he were burying himself deep within her belly.

He shifted slightly and repositioned her: grasping her waist tightly, he turned her so that she was now facing away from him; he pressed a hand to her back, just between her shoulder blades, and forced her to bend at the waist. He took her savagely, her breasts dangling and springing up and down energetically. He watched his cock sliding into her beneath her plump rump, pinching at her cheeks. She was wrong: She hadn’t imagined, only moments ago when the satyr was attending to her, that she could ever cum harder or more powerfully, but she did now for him, for her love, her husband, her god. The muscles within her silken sheath tightened around him, undulated and milking him until he, too, reached climax and pumped that syrupy seed into her with more force and in greater amounts than even before.

The orgy around them reached a frenzied mood at that moment. Dionysus pulled her to him again, her back to his smooth chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Her long hair clung to her in sweaty ropes and she was panting, whimpering and grasping for breath. Again he cupped his hand around her throat. “This is only the beginning, my love,” he promised in her ear, kissing her there, beneath her jaw where her pulse was thudding.

*~*~*

“Ari?” Steffie called. She’s searched everywhere, and eventually her hunt had led her to the abandoned, roped-off room. She peered in and saw the statue of Dionysus lording over his lustful minions, but no Ari. She shrugged and walked away.


End file.
